


Cannon Fodder

by KiaraSayre



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Humor, News Media, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:34:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3103985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/pseuds/KiaraSayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the war, Steve and Bucky get stuck with press duty.  Sometimes reporters are racist assholes.  The Howling Commandos decide to take this as an opportunity to get creative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cannon Fodder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/gifts).



> This is a Giftmas present for [Chaya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya), who prompted me with: "During the war, Steve and Bucky get interviewed a lot. Sometimes the interviewers are bastards who want to goad them into saying the 'integrated' members of the Howling Commandos don't really belong. Spoiler: it doesn't go well for the interviewer."

Bucky, being the self-admitted paranoid and cynical little shit that he is, picks up on it the very first time it happens, even though it goes over Steve's head.

It's a fairly standard interview, as these things go, although it happens to be about four hours after the debriefing from the latest mission, which was a twenty-one-day slog through the Alps with limited supplies, harsh conditions, and high levels of misery all around. Steve feels barely conscious after so long without sleep – after they got cut off from their backup team on day ten, Steve insisted on taking extra watch shifts since he needs less sleep in general – and Bucky has reached the point of exhaustion where he's just plain mean. Steve's seen this particular look before: it means that Bucky is Done, and if whatever he's Done with doesn't realize it yet, well, _it will_.

But here they are, pulled aside by whichever bureaucrat Steve can't be bothered to recall right now as the most 'photogenic' of the Commandos, to do a quick interview.

First off, the interviewer's got a smart bowler hat and a nicer suit than anyone should have at this point in the war. Peggy's been drawing her stocking-lines on for months, but this guy's got a tie so shiny he shouldn't be allowed to wear it in an air raid, and it's visibly new enough that it could only have come off the black market. Steve could be fine with that – he's well aware that the Commandos' record on that front is far from spotless, particularly when it comes to the acquisition of cigarettes – but there's something about this guy's smarmy smile and the way he reaches over to shake Steve's hand but not Bucky's and doesn't even stand up that just…well, Steve doesn't want to read too much into it at first, especially not after a mission like the one that they just had.

"So you must be Captain America," the interviewer says. "It's great to finally meet you. It took damn near forever to get this interview set up."

"We just got back from a mission," Steve says, sitting down at the table across from the interviewer.

"A _classified_ mission," Bucky clarifies, sitting down as well. Steve shoots him a look, which Bucky steadfastly ignores.

"I guess that's just the call of duty," the interviewer says with a shrug, and flips open a notebook on the table. "So, down to business. What _is_ it like being out there on the front lines?"

This is well within the wheelhouse of questions Steve's been asked a hundred times at this point, so he straightens his spine out of pure habit and doesn't even have to concentrate on putting the words together. "You know, it's hard work, it really is, but hard work is all that gets the job done in the end. Sitting back and watching Germany march across Europe won't get anyone anything except a whole continent answering to Hitler, and I don't think anyone wants that."

"Still, in circumstances like those, it must be really important to be able to trust the guys in your unit to have your back," the interviewer pushes.

"And I do," Steve says immediately. "All of us out here on the front are a team. Not just the unit that's with me every step of the way, but everyone from the people back at camp that keep us equipped to the people back home who are sacrificing their time, energy, and comfort for the cause." Steve stops for a moment, temporarily distracted by the interviewer's shiny, black-market tie, and the interviewer takes the opportunity to jump in.

"I'm well aware of the party line, Captain," the interviewer says. "We've all heard it. But tell me honestly – it can't all be that great out here. I mean, you don't get to pick who you work with, right? Surely there are some of the men out here who just can't carry their own weight. Who maybe don't belong."

Steve frowns. "I wouldn't say that at all," he says carefully.

"It's a pretty…mixed…crowd out here, though," the interviewer says. "It's not just Americans, for that matter. In your unit alone, you've got a Brit and a Frenchman, to say nothing of…some of the others."

And Steve – Steve is so tired and part of him thinks that there's no way anyone would waste valuable time during a war to ask a question like that, so it goes right over his goddamn head until Bucky pipes up and says, "You mean Jim and Gabe?"

The interviewer shrugs. "It's a little odd, isn't it, for the premiere unit of the American effort in the war to be have members of groups who are legally seen as unfit for traditional duty with white officers. Has that ever caused any problems?"

"Oh, it's about to," Bucky says, leaning forward ever-so-slightly, and Steve at least catches _that_.

"I was allowed to choose my own unit, and I personally asked Jim and Gabe to join the Commandos," Steve says. "I was lucky that they accepted. Their service has been exemplary, and each of them has personally saved my life more times than I can count."

The interviewer flaps a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, they're a credit to their race, got it. I'm looking for the real, juicy details, y'know? Not the story you've told the other press."

"The truth is," Steve says, "they're not a credit to their race – they're a credit to America. If you don't have questions on any other subject, then I'm afraid we're going to have to get back to actually doing work."

Bucky follows Steve out, and Steve stops just outside the door to the dining room they'd been using.

"What," Steve says, "was _that_ all about?"

"It was trouble, pure and simple," Bucky says, shaking his head.

 

But it happens again, and with even less subtlety.

"Having a Japanese and a black on your unit, that can't be easy," says a reporter a few weeks later.

Steve had been sorta hoping that nobody else would continue on this particular line of inquiry, but, well, now that it's started happening, he can look back and realize he shouldn't have been surprised. He's a firm believer in the ability of anyone to be good and decent, even if he's also a firm believer that for some people it takes more work than others, and that for some of those some people - well, it's easy to be lazy. 

"Actually, it's really the Irish that's a problem," Steve says, and Bucky shoots him a quick look, wondering where this is going.

"Oh, yeah?" says the reporter. "Who's the Irish one?"

"Me," Steve says, and stands up and walks out without another word.

Bucky's whole face is caught up in a fierce, ruthless smile when he comes out a few seconds after Steve. "Were you trying to panic that guy?" he says. "'Cause you did a beautiful job of it, really."

"They're just gonna keep asking, aren't they," Steve says.

"You tell me," Bucky replies with a shrug. "You're the one who spent all those months on baby-kissing duty."

"Is it wrong of me," Steve says, just the slightest bit wistfully, "to wish I'd been on the front lines with you instead?"

Bucky looks at him for a second, a very, very blank look, and then he looks down the hallway and says, "Yeah, a little, but it's okay. I already knew you were a bit of a bastard."

 

Steve thinks and thinks about how to deal with the reporters because - he doesn't want to speak for Gabe and Jim, after all, but he doesn't want to shove them onto the purely metaphorical grenade of dealing with the press. He would never do that to anyone - it's downright inhumane. So eventually he cracks and just asks them.

"I mean, I can stop the interview until I can get you in, if you want," he says to them. "Especially if I tell Peggy that that's what I'm going to be doing. Worst-case scenario, they start looking a little harder at the reporters they bring in, you know?"

"Cap," says Jim, his shoulders moving slightly as he continues to saw his pocketknife against the ropes binding his hands, "does this really seem like the right time?"

"I don't know," Gabe says, waiting his turn for a knife - Bucky, Jim, and Monty are working on their own ropes since theirs were the only knives within reach, before they move on to anyone else, so Gabe, Frenchie, and Dum-Dum are just waiting, and Steve is trying to find his own way out of his shackles. Gabe continues, "This is the closest thing we've had to downtime in a while. And compared to that mission in the Ardennes, this is almost a vacation."

"I just thought of it, and didn't want to forget," Steve says, and begins twisting his wrists, to twist the shackles themselves - or at least the short links of chain that connect the shackles to each other. "When did HYDRA upgrade to shackles?" he wonders aloud - if they weren't obviously going to make it out within the next ten minutes or so, he might be more worried, but to be honest, getting deliberately captured by HYDRA to smoke out their command base isn't even close to the stupidest plan they've had since they came together as a unit.

"Well, _I_ don't want to have to deal with them, not if they're racist bastards," Jim says.

"Agreed," says Gabe. "Nothing good ever comes from trying to talk to those guys. Better to just shut 'em up or get away from them and prove 'em wrong when it really counts."

"Or kick 'em in the crotch," Jim adds.

"How very subtle," Monty says, joining the conversation.

"So, Monty," Dum-Dum chimes in, "how do you deal with racist shitheads in jolly old England?"

"Why, the same way we deal with all rude, insensitive American pricks," Monty says. "We come at them with our dry British wit until they can no longer tell what's a joke and what isn't."

"You mean mess with their heads?" Bucky says, his knife stopping its sawing motion momentarily.

"Quite," Monty says.

Frenchie lets out a long string of French, and though Steve can't tell what he's saying, there's something about the vigor that he's saying it with that makes it clear that he's taking vicarious pleasure in someone else's impending discomfort.

Gabe bursts out laughing, and then turns to the rest of the Commandos. "He's got some really great ideas," he says.

And that's how it starts.

 

"So, Captain, rumor has it that you insisted on bringing in blacks and Japs into your unit," the interviewer says. "How'd that happen?"

"Entirely by accident," Steve says immediately. "To be honest, I thought I was drafting the USO girls who worked on my stage act. Did you see how high they could kick? One of those heels to ol' Adolph's jaw and we'd win the war, I'm telling you."

Bucky makes a slightly joked noise beside him, and the interviewer frowns slightly.

"I'm sorry?" he says.

"The showgirls," Steve repeats. "They train a lot, too. I know some of us soldiers have trouble finding socks and getting blisters and whatnot, but have you ever seen what six hours of practicing high-kicks a day in stilettos will do to your toes? I've met Army men who'd be crying like babies under half the abuse those ladies take every day and wouldn't look half as good in their skirts, either."

To Steve's left, Bucky takes a long, deep inhale, and then a long, slow exhale. The interviewer taps his pencil against his notebook.

"Are you serious right now?"

Steve grins a shark's grin. "You can always print what I just told you and find out."

"And get laughed out of the paper?" the interviewer says.

"Why," Steve replies silkily, "that's entirely up to you. This interview is over, and that's the only scoop you're getting."

 

He tells the rest of the Commandos, and they laugh harder than Steve's seen them laugh before. Frenchie, who originated the showgirl idea, gets his rounds at the local pubs paid for for a week.

"Any sudden attacks of remorse about the interview?" Bucky asks one night, as they're refilling their own pints.

Steve looks over his shoulder, to where even Peggy is watching in bemusement as Dum-Dum, Frenchie, and an incredibly drunk Monty try to balance their beers while attempting high-kicks.

"Somehow, no," Steve says.

 

"Captain, why is it that your unit is desegregated?" asks the reporter.

Bucky steps in smoothly, before Steve can get a word in. "I wouldn't say it's 'desegregated,' really," he drawls. "I mean, we don't all sleep in the same camp. We did at first, but, really, it just wasn't gonna work out."

Steve can practically see the reporter's ears perk up. "Oh?" he says. "And why's that?"

"Because," Bucky says, leaning in slightly with an air of conspiracy. "The fact of the matter is - and this isn't something the Army wants getting out, you know, since there's a real image we're going for of the Commandos being the best and always getting along, and something like this, well."

The reporter leans in further, and Steve does, too, just to complete the picture.

"The truth is," Bucky says, "Captain America has to camp separately, because he snores."

It takes quite a lot of restraint for Steve not to sigh.

"Like a freight train," Bucky continues. "Like a saw on wood. Or, no - have you been in London during an air raid? That's what it sounds like, and I'm speaking from experience."

Steve can feel his jaw set with irritation, but he lets Bucky continue.

"This American paragon of military strength," Bucky says, and almost sounds actually sad as he heavily whacks a hand against Steve's shoulder, keeping it there, "is the very specimen of human perfection, except that he snores so _god damn loud_."

"I don't think you really have to - " Steve begins, but Bucky keeps going.

"We've got to shove socks in his mouth just so that he doesn't give away our position to the enemy when we're on the offensive. We tried making a little snow-cave back in February, to try to keep the sound contained, but it just collapsed. In fact, he caused an avalanche - "

"Okay, this interview is done," Steve says.

 

That night, Bucky raises his glass in a toast.

"To Captain Snoozemerica," he says, "the first of the Snoring Commandos!"

The rest of the Commandos laugh uproariously and raise their glasses as well.

"I don't snore anymore," Steve protests. 

"But you used to," Bucky says.

"Says you."

Bucky lets out a 'ha!' of a laugh. "Remember that apartment we had under the elevated subway tracks?"

"Yeah, where you said you could never tell if there was a train passing or if I'd fallen asleep?"

"Well, that's not strictly true," Bucky says, and gives Steve a shit-eating grin. "The trains never woke me up."

 

"Steve," Peggy says, dropping a folder in front of the desk where he's got the latest mission briefings staged, "is there a reason that you and Sergeant Barnes have accused three reporters of being potential HYDRA collaborators in the past two months?"

Steve stands up, taking his hands off of the desk where he'd been leaning, and contemplates for only a second before he says, "Well, I find it a bit concerning when members of the press come to me and start expressing the very same views we're fighting against. I'm just trying to be diligent."

"The very same views?" Peggy repeats.

"Directed at Jim and Gabe, typically."

Peggy's eyebrows quirk ever-so-slightly, and then she says, "Ah. Yes, I see. Well, I suppose I'll simply have to personally vet any members of the press from now on before they're allowed access to you or any of the other Commandos." She smiles a small, dangerous smile. "No doubt those interviews will be...illuminating."

Steve tries not to smile back. "No doubt," he says, and then frowns. "Did you say three? I could've sworn it was four."

Which is how they discover a HYDRA agent who'd been passing as a reporter to gain access to SSR compounds. He went off the grid after the interview, since he thought Steve had legitimately made him, but it only takes two weeks of not-that-hard tracking to deliver him into the waiting arms of SSR Intelligence.

In the celebratory trip to the local watering hole (London, where the spy had gone to ground), Bucky asks (or, really, yells over the crowd to) Peggy, "How's the vetting going?"

"Quite well, thank you," Peggy replies. "I think I rather intimidate them."

"Good," Bucky yells back, and grins at Steve, who returns it.

"Does this mean we're finally off press duty?" Steve asks.

"I dunno," Bucky says. "You could always drag out the old costume, maybe track down some of the showgirls…"

"It's almost a shame," Jim says. "I'd been brainstorming ways to mess with interviewers."

"Moi aussi," says Frenchie.

Gabe lets off a string of French that makes Dernier cackle, and they clink their glasses in satisfaction.

"Well, if you'd like, I can let a few particularly clueless ones through, every now and again," says Peggy, completely straight-faced even as she sips her wine. (She had admitted, halfway through the mission when she and Steve had tailed their target into a bar, that she preferred beer, but whenever other SSR members were around she opted for wine for the same reason that she opted for the skirt uniform: she didn't want to be one of the guys to be an SSR agent, she wanted to be herself and be an SSR agent. Steve had promised her that they'd find a bartender who was willing to serve her a very pale beer in a champagne glass so she could get the best of both worlds, and then the target spotted them and pulled out a gun and the conversation ended abruptly.)

"Yes, please!" says Morita, loudly and drunkenly.

Bucky shakes his head with a rueful smile. "No complaining if we break 'em, though, right?"

Steve meets Peggy's eyes and gives her a shrug. "Well, if it's what it takes to keep the morale up…"

 

It certainly does keep morale up. For the Commandos, anyway - definitely not for the press corps. They brainstorm between missions, on missions, on base, basically whenever they can. Dum Dum's contributions are largely useless, since his idea of subtlety is hollering " _wa-hooooooo_ " while detonating explosives or firing on the enemy. Monty's are, rather predictably, dry as bone and viciously cutting, from simply playing dumb all the way through the interview to the point of claiming ignorance about the meaning of certain important phrases to agreeing with the interviewer and stating that bringing Gabe and Jim onto the team was clearly a suspect decision since it makes all the other Commandos look bad.

Steve - Steve is just too earnest about it, to be honest. He'd rather leave it at "Those kinds of differences don't make any difference on our team" and move on, but, well, it's not really his place to make that kind of a decision, and Jim and Gabe are wholeheartedly behind the effort to disrupt the lives of as many racist interviewers as possible. Bucky, on the other hand, approaches the plans like a strategist: drawing out the details, nailing down every contingency, suggesting a modification every now and then, but rarely coming up with the ideas themselves.

Jim and Gabe and Frenchie, though - they're flat-out geniuses. Or at least Jim and the combined unit of Gabe-and-Frenchie are, since the latter two seem to brainstorm in French before Gabe translates ideas so fully-fledged that even Bucky can't find fault with them.

Steve almost wishes that he could tell the interviewers precisely who came up with each idea, like an artist signing a portrait, to make sure that credit's given where it's due.

One interviewer starts off by asking of it's true that Gabe Jones has syphilis.

Steve says that a clean bill of health is required for all soldiers on the front line, ignores Bucky's choke of laughter at the irony of _Steve_ of all people saying that, and then recites word-for-word the narration he'd provided as Captain America for the ten-minute-long informative video for the troops entitled "VD And You: Dos and Don'ts For The Front."

The interviewer's discomfort edges closer and closer to panic, and Steve knows that he probably shouldn't get so much enjoyment out of it, but, well, he never claimed to be a perfect man.

When he tells the other Commandos about it, Monty makes the mistake of questioning whether Steve, in fact, still knows all the words, and so Steve treats all of the Commandos - and the entire bar - to an encore performance. Instead of applauding, they - and the entire bar - throw things at him, including, rather appropriately, at least three condoms.

 

"So you've got a pretty mixed group of people in your unit, huh? Come from all different walks of life?" says one reporter at the end of an interview that, frankly, was going pretty well until now.

"I'm not sure I would say - " Steve begins.

Bucky cuts him off, leaning forward and planting his elbows on his knees and hooking a thumb back at Steve. "Is this because he's Irish?"

"What?" says the interviewer.

" _What_?" says Steve, because this definitely isn't one of Jim or Gabe's and also Steve already used this line and that's just cheating.

"'Cause he's Captain America, you know," Bucky continues. "He's the Beacon of Liberty, the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, and he's out there risking his neck every day to beat back the Nazis, so I don't think anyone should give a rat's ass whether he's Irish or not."

"No!" the interviewer says quickly. "No, I wasn't - I absolutely agree, he's doing great things! We're all very appreciative!"

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Bucky says, "because it's always such a shame when people start thinking that someone's only worth as much as where they come from or who their parents were - or the color of their skin - and don't see anything past that."

Then he smiles, showing all of his teeth. "Next question?"

 

"Captain Rogers," Peggy says from across the large battlefield map of Europe. She has one of the flags indicating an abandoned HYDRA base in her hand, held delicately between two red-polished fingers, and she's rolling it by the stem contemplatively.

"Ma'am?" Steve says.

"Was that Mr. Donahue of the Post that I saw coming out of the officer's mess the other day? I believe you had an interview scheduled at that time."

Steve nods, with the slightest bit of hesitation. Bucky had gotten out of this particular interview by being due for his annual physical examination, and had refused to switch places with Steve no matter how many pointed and pitiful looks Steve sent his way, so Steve had gone it alone.

"And was he...crying, Captain?" Peggy says.

Steve doesn't wince, but it's a near thing. "Yes, ma'am, he was."

Peggy meets Steve's eye and suppresses a smile. "You know, Captain," she says, "you're really getting quite good at dealing with the press these days."

Then she replaces the flag - exactly where it belonged, Steve notices - and walks away.

 

"But really though," Steve says, shouting over the din of the bar, "neither of you want to take a crack at an interviewer yourselves?"

"No," Gabe says immediately.

" _Hell_ no," Jim agrees.

"But you don't even get to see their faces, and that's the best part," Bucky says.

"I'm perfectly fine not seeing anyone's faces, thanks," Jim says, shaking his head at his beer.

"Think of it as another battlefield," Gabe says with a shrug. "You guys are the brave first line, going into uncharted territory to valiantly - "

"Cannon fodder," Bucky says. "You're saying we're cannon fodder."

" _Oui_ ," says Frenchie.

Bucky glares at him in return. " _Comment dit-on_ you're an asshole?"

Based on Gabe's snort of laughter, Frenchie's response is not an accurate translation.

"Come on, guys," Jim says, rolling his eyes. "We've got to deal with this shit all the time. As in, _all_ the time. The least you can do is take it when we see it coming."

"Also," Gabe says in agreement, "it's pretty hilarious."

Steve and Bucky trade resigned looks, and Steve sighs into his beer.

"Well, I guess Captain America will just have to step up and keep doing it."

Gabe claps him on the shoulder and Jim sarcastically raises a glass to him, so Steve gives a little bow in return.

"Making racist reporters cry is a hard job," says Bucky with a sigh, "but someone's gotta do it."

**Author's Note:**

> The racism portrayed in here is less period-typical and more cartoonish, and I fully acknowledge that it's defanged; this was for two reasons. First, I'm not a historian and I'm not as familiar with how racism expressed itself in this time period as I would want to be if I were going to write it with any claim to accuracy. Second, I did really want this to be a "let's watch racist pricks get fucked with and laugh" story, and frankly with the current state of race relations in the US, I thought we could all use some escapism from the shitty reality of how we as a country currently and in the past have treated people of color, so I wrote 4000+ words of laughing at MCU's World War II version of FOX News. Not that I'm saying FOX News is HYDRA, but...well, do we know it's _not_? Just saying.
> 
> If you think I fucked up, please feel free to call me out - I fully acknowledge that I have privilege here. You can find me both here on AO3 and [on tumblr](http://starsandatoms.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Edited 1/03: Someone pointed out that a joke that was originally in here was transphobic, and they were right. I've moved that section [here](http://starsandatoms.tumblr.com/post/107021382803/srs-bsns-time) for the record, along with a more in-depth apology, and I'm sorry to anyone who was hurt by the unedited version.


End file.
